


Up in Arms

by QuizzicalQuinnia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-07 22:53:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11068758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuizzicalQuinnia/pseuds/QuizzicalQuinnia
Summary: For the Jab June fic fest!Jaime experiences some...discomfort while wearing an inconvenient suit of armor.





	Up in Arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WackyGoofball](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WackyGoofball/gifts).



> I need some kind of badge for Mikki since she beta's all my nonsense! 
> 
> For Wacky, because she's WACKY.

**Up in Arms**

 

The armor was hot.

Jaime thought it must be at least thirty percent warmer inside the plate suit than it was in the large old hall. A roaring fire roasted the far end where the feasting table had been placed, and he stood on one side of the enormous fireplace.

She stood on the other side, eight paces away. Too far, but too close. His armor was also _hot_. He knew it was because of the look in her eye, trying not to stare at him in periphery. He caught her glances though she tried to hide them. It was nothing but warm colors everywhere, reds and oranges, and the shades of dark wines, but her eyes were bright blue in every light. He always saw them.

She looked at him…appreciatively. The look was all too familiar. He saw it often on the faces of many, acquaintance and stranger both, as _appreciation_ tried to engage his interest. It had never worked before, but he’d never seen that look on _her_ face.

This was a victory. Jaime’s mouth twisted into a deeply satisfied grin. _Finally_. He should have known, really, that Brienne Tarth wouldn’t betray herself when she thought he could see. She would only blush whenever he’d stripped his shirt off slowly by the pool, or washed her car with all his muscles showing through his wet, white shirt. _That_ never caught her. Leave it to a full suit of ancient armor to get her juices flowing.

He could work with this. Let her stare at him for the next hour while they played their parts and wore their costumes. He’d claimed he couldn’t believe Brienne had roped him into playing dress-up at a dumb demonstration for the Historical Weapons Society, but since he would do anything for her, it should have been no surprise. Of course, _he_ would have demanded that interns act as the old guards. It didn’t matter that Brienne had no interns. He could have found some.

But the armor was apparently hot. She liked it. He couldn’t regret wearing it, even though the temperature was climbing. He was sweating. Drops ran down his back and his forehead. He fidgeted a little, and he caught her turning her head to look him in the eye. She blinked, once, twice…she bit her lip and resumed staring straight ahead at the crowd bickering over the food table.

He watched her mouth as if in slow motion, glad he had at least talked her out of wearing helms. Her large front teeth dug into plush pink flesh before letting go. Her lips remained parted for a moment. She licked them. They settled back into place, slightly downturned from her perpetual and unconscious public frown. His pulse sped as he stared. She was using the lip balm.

What a source of contention that had been! It had started not long after they’d met at the board of director’s conference. He’d said she should consider a nice thick balm for the dryness problem. She’d been insulted. That was understandable now, considering it _was_ insulting. She bit her lip when she was nervous or when she was concentrating, so her skin was always a little cracked there. He’d started to leave tubes of his expensive luxury balm everywhere. Her desk, her car, her gym bag.

He’d finally succeeded in that endeavor, too, and not just the _notice me_ plan. Two victories in one evening! It was for her own good. Cracked lips were uncomfortable. Hers looked juicy now, forbidden red fruit. He’d recently stopped wondering why he’d been so fixated on her mouth, because he knew the answer.

Damn it, she was parting those lips again…someone was speaking to her. Jaime watched her words form and wished he were standing right in front of her so he could see her eyes. Her mouth twisted down at the corner. She was irritated. Petyr Baelish was looking up at her, his greasy hair glinting in the fire light, and his beady eyes taunting her. Jaime hoped she would remember the many times he’d told her not to worry about what others thought. They didn’t matter. Baelish was just another rich prick.

Finally, the crafty man walked away, and Jaime waited for her to look over at him, to see if she were upset. She did look, and she was _not_ upset. Her blue eyes seemed…amused? She rolled them, a tiny little smile lurking at the corner of her bitten lips.

He decided to wink at her. It was juvenile, and he immediately regretted it, so to recoup, he stood tall in his sweltering armor and gripped the hilt of his sword which hovered close to his hip. He hoped he looked majestic and kingly. Her gaze swooped downward to settle on the hilt. He could almost feel it, like soft fingers grazing over his skin.

She blushed, quickly and very, very red. She looked away immediately. Her posture stiffened, and she blinked too fast. She bit her lip.

He wanted to believe that she’d become so flustered just from looking at him being hot in his armor. But she was Brienne. It was unlikely.

Had she seen her reflection in the metal of his armor and become embarrassed as she usually did, even though he told her not to? He glanced down, following the path her eyes had taken, and he landed on his hand gripping the hilt of the heavy replica sword. Its rounded head jutted out in front of him, his fingers wrapped around the length like…oh. _Oh_.

Jaime Lannister didn’t know what to make of this. He couldn’t quite believe that Brienne, _she_ of all people, would so instantly see the visual innuendo. Yet there could be no other explanation. He looked up at her profile. She was still blinking too rapidly, still blushing. Still biting her lip.

He felt something. He tried to stop it, he _tried!_ It was impossible to halt the flow of his own blood just by willpower. His blood apparently had a harder time controlling itself around her than _he_ did. It traveled south on a journey of extraordinary discomfort. It settled right between his hips where it proceeded to force his body into mimicking the damned sword, except there was the extreme hindrance of metal in the way. He thought he heard a faint clunk.  

At least she couldn’t see now, even if she were looking. No one could see, and that was a bit of a relief considering the venue. Jaime did not _feel_ relieved. He felt very much the opposite. Constrained. Repressed. Wanting. And _pained_. There was nowhere to…go. The metal codpiece he’d previously mocked without mercy was mocking him right back.

This was what he’d wanted! He wanted her to _see_ him. He wanted her to want him, and even he wasn’t so blind that he didn’t know why she was blushing like that. But the armor!

He hated armor. He hated his stupid codpiece, made of hammered steel and manhood-stifling disrespect. He twitched. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He wanted to rip all that metal off and throw it in the fire. And her armor, too, because then they’d be halfway to naked.

Oh, that was _not_ helping. Her, naked. Her pale skin in the firelight. Her freckles coming alive. The armor falling from her body piece by piece to crash on the stone floor. The hot wool underneath peeling from her. The sweet freedom of that codpiece being no more.

Had it been _this_ hot the whole time? So hot.

“Jaime?” It was her voice, floating in a near-whisper across the fireplace.

He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t, or…something. Something very uncomfortable. It wasn’t working. It was hotter and tighter and painful.

“Jaime? Are you all right?”

He looked. Mistake! Her blue eyes were wide and concerned. Her lips were parted. She began to move toward him, slowly.

He shook his head. _Don’t come closer_ , he thought, and he didn’t say it aloud even though he should. The codpiece was going to fly off. It had to. The pressure was _bad._

Her gloved hand reached out, she stopped herself. She’d forgotten she wore gloves, and she raised the hand to her mouth where her teeth gripped the leather tip of the index finger, stretching it into an odd tube as she pulled the glove from her hand. The floppy thing hung from her mouth until she gripped it with her other hand, and he was distracted by it, and he couldn’t stop her warm ungloved palm from landing on his forehead.

His skin was clammy, his codpiece in full rebellion. He swallowed thickly.

“You’re burning up, Jaime,” she murmured as she stepped even closer.

He reached up quickly and grabbed her wrist. “Say it again.” His voice was a growl.

She blinked. “You’re burning up. Are you sick?”

“Not that.” He gripped her wrist harder, but not enough to be painful. He wasn’t interested in pain apart from the bloody codpiece.

His gloved thumb was stroking the inside of her wrist. He didn’t know when he’d started doing it. He looked her right in the eye.

“Jaime,” she said, quiet and soft. She knew.

He imagined how his name would sound falling from her lips in other circumstances.

“I want this armor off,” he said, trying to be casual and failing.

“It’s much warmer than I expected,” she said, averting her gaze finally, tugging her arm against the hard grip of his hand. She wasn’t really trying to get away.

He bit his own lip and tasted the minty balm he wore, the same he’d given to her. Her lips would taste that way, but more _her_. “I want to take the armor off _you_.”

Her eyes widened even more and focused on him again, his mouth then his green gaze. “I…I can take it off myself.”

“Do it,” he commanded.

She bit that plump juicy lip for the tenth time. “Is that what you really want, Jaime?”

“Say my name one more time and you’ll find out.”

She stared at him, and he stared back. He slid his hand from her wrist up to her fingers and twined his with them, and he turned to stride in his heavy armor from the hall to find somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Behind him, just a pace amid the should-be-hilarious clanking of their armor, she said, “Jaime.”

 

 


End file.
